


Building The Web

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Series: Connections [2]
Category: Birds of Prey (Comic)
Genre: 30 Day OTP NSFW Challenge, Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexy Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 30-Day NSFW challenge, following on (or in some cases happening concurrent to) the events of <em>Points of Contact.</em> Basically, Savant and Creote have lots of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Cuddles (naked)

Savant is in his arms, and he is naked.

It isn't what Sasha will freely admit he's often dreamed of. Not yet, at least; that would be too soon, too soon indeed, in fact _tonight_ it would not only be too soon, he would be taking advantage.

Their closeness is, in fact, medical.

They took Barbara home first, of course, where she was immediately set upon by worried friends, who descended upon her with towels and whisked her away with glares at them. Which was legitimate, they had taken the woman out against her will and subjected her to a great deal of physical stress in less than stellar weather conditions. But it hadn't been warm there, and of course _they_ weren't offered any towels.

And by the time they were able to return to _their_ apartment, Savant, who had dressed lightly—who 's been eating poorly lately, who hadn't expected to be _coming_ back to the apartment—was shivering dangerously.

There are two simple home cures for hypothermia. One was out of the question, as their one bathtub is currently filled with old newspapers related to a project Savant had begun and then forgotten, and in any case it's too small for even casual bathing, let alone any kind of real submersion. Barely even a hip bath for either of them.

So Sasha had turned up the heat, gotten towels, told Savant to strip, and dried them both, and now they're lying in Savant's bed, which is a bit too small for the two of them. They've agreed to discuss the evening's revelations when it's light again; for now health concerns take precedence.

In the increased heat, and in his unwell state, Savant falls asleep almost immediately.

This leaves Sasha in a rather awkward situation. _He,_ of course, is still wearing underthings. Dry ones, not the rain-soaked ones he came home in, but _something._ Savant, however, has _no_ sense of self-consciousness—he has _many_ insecurities, but that is not one of them—and simply climbed into bed naked, as he always does. In his sleep he has also shifted closer, pressing himself to Sasha's chest, his head tucked beneath his companion's chin, presumably moving towards the greatest source of warmth.

So: Savant is in his arms, and he is naked.

Hopefully he remembers why in the morning.

Sasha wants him desperately.

But now is not the time. And, for the moment, this is closer than he's ever gotten to what he's wanted for years.

Savant shivers in his sleep and moves closer, mumbling something incomprehensible.

It's good enough for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by my dear friend, [thecapedlibrarianontheroof](thecapedlibrarianontheroof.tumblr.com). ^_^


	2. ...and Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Kiss (naked)

The day starts out exactly as Sasha had feared. He wakes, looks down, and marvels at the golden man beside him. And then Savant, said golden man, shifts closer to him, stirs, goes suddenly still, and slowly opens his eyes. “Creote, why are you in my bed?”

Sasha moves backward, to give him room. “Hypothermia, sir. When we arrived home last night you were very cold, and the bathtub is not clear. I was concerned.”

“Right. Yes. It was raining.” Savant's tone is odd. “There was something else, though. Something we still need to talk about.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I don't remember what it is. Oracle told me. _That_ I recall. It was very important.” He pauses. Frowns. “You...you hugged me.”

“I did.” Sasha is ready to get up if the conversation goes in the direction he's afraid it will, ready to return to his own bed and never speak of the last night again if Savant will be content.

“Yes, I remember now.” Another pause. “Barbara said...she said you love me. And I asked you, and you said it was true. That's what happened, right?”

“...yes.”

“So. You. You love me.”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Savant's mouth twists, and for a moment Sasha thinks the worst, but then what he says is, “I don't think you have to call me _sir_ if you're going to go saying things like _that._ You can just...” he looks up at Sasha, and his expression is...hopeful. “You can just tell me.”

Sasha takes a deep breath. “I love you. Brian.”

And Savant laughs, nervously. “Good. That's good. Because I, I _certainly_ love you, I think I have for some time. And. If _you_ didn't love _me._ Well. Then. That would be—”

“Impossible. The suggestion that I would not is _entirely_ absurd.”

“Good.”

For a moment they're both very quiet, staring at each other, not quite close enough to touch.

“So.” Savant—Brian—laughs nervously again. “And we're here now. In bed. Together.”

“For entirely medical reasons, I should point out.”

“Are you saying you _don't_ want to kiss me?”

Sasha...can't quite say anything.

Brian stares at him and then laughs _happily,_ not the nervous chuckling this time. “Are you _blushing?_ ”

“I don't blush.” Sasha tries to put on his best stoic ten-hour-stakeout expression. “It's very warm in here.”

“You're _blushing._ ”

“I am _not._ ”

“Admit it!”

“I should perhaps start cooking breakfast.”

“Don't you _dare._ ”

Sasha tries to get out of the bed, and Brian tries to stop him, and while Sasha may be the bigger one, he gets his foot caught in the blanket in short order, and it ends with Brian straddling his waist, pinning him to the bed by his shoulders. It's very...

Sasha turns his head to the side. “I may be blushing. Don't expect it often.”

“So you love me and I love you. The clear end result of this equation is that you should kiss me.”

A moment to steel his nerves, and then Sasha reaches up, grabs a handful of Brian's hair and pulls him down, leans up towards him, and they meet in the middle. There are lips, and a gasping breath from _one_ of them, a suggestion of teeth and then the _definite_ intrusion of Brian's tongue into Sasha's mouth, and in the middle of what is perhaps the third or thousandth kiss Sasha rolls them up and over and presses his companion down into the mattress, determined that this taste should stay with him all day. One of his knees is pressed between Brian's thighs, and Brian bucks up and presses against him and grips his shoulders so hard that Sasha _knows_ he'll bruise.

Then he pulls back, and Brian makes an irritated noise. “You're getting up. Why are you getting up? Things were just getting exciting.”

“It pains me to say this, but...not now. Not yet.” It's with _titanic_ effort that Sasha gets out of the bed. “We need to talk more first. It needs time. _I_ need time. And we also need—” his stomach rumbles on cue, “breakfast.”

“ _Oh._ Right. Breakfast would be good.” Brian purses his lips thoughtfully. “ _After_ breakfast, though...”

Sasha leans down for another kiss. “After breakfast, we talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This illustration is also by [thecapedlibrarianontheroof](thecapedlibrarianontheroof.tumblr.com), who is _awesome!_


	3. Cartography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: First time

They talk, and at first they take things slow. As pressing as things may seem, hurrying would only hurt them—Sasha doesn't want to take advantage, Brian wants to give the whole situation the chance to impress itself upon him so that he doesn't do anything thoughtless. The key to memory is repetition, and the joy of being in love is that when you're with your beloved, especially in the high times of the first passion, nothing _really_ seems boring. So they have long conversations and try to learn more about each other, they sleep close together when the bed doesn't feel too small, they cook for each other. They do a lot of kissing.

Honestly, it's all very teenage. They try not to make too many jokes about it.

But then...

They're both adrenaline-high, because that's what happens when a pipe bomb goes off right next to you, and after they eat a light dinner, Brian starts pacing. He's not going anywhere, just walking back and forth, talking at length, gesturing vastly in the air. Sasha puts up with it for twenty minutes or so, but finally he gets frustrated, and he grabs Brian's wrist and pulls him down into a kiss. Into Brian's mouth, he says, “You talk too much.”

Brian laughs, delightedly. “I talk. I talk at _all. You_ talk too little.” He peers at Sasha, grinning, and then simply climbs astride his lap. “But if my talking is getting on your _nerves_ then maybe you should help me stay occupied some _other_ way.”

Sasha's breath catches in his throat, but he smiles. “Like how?”

No response. _Verbally._ Just a pleased look, and then a graceful downward bend so that their mouths meet again.

First, sweet. Mouths closed, eyes closed, Sasha's hands on Brian's waist and Brian's arms around his neck.

Then—a little “hmm,” and Brian's lips part, he catches Sasha's lower lip in his teeth for a moment and then moans low in his throat as Sasha's tongue slips into his mouth.

“Here, wait...” He pulls back and peels his shirt off, dropping it on the floor by their feet. His chest is lined with scars, some recent, some faded with age—a map of many combats. “Little too—”

Sasha leans forward and traces a scar with the tip of his tongue, suddenly _terribly_ hard and eager to read this map with his mouth, to outline every turn of it until the man he holds is gasping and aching for him.

_“_ _Ah...”_

Two scars cross, and he takes the crossroads up, memorizing the texture of skin and the edges of muscles, until he reaches a nipple and bites, lightly.

Brian jolts and clutches at his hair and makes a noise, which _sounds_ like an attempt at speech but which comes _out_ more as a breathless whine.

“Hm.” Sasha can't help but smile against Brian's skin. “You...you are beautiful.”

“I...ah...” and cuts off again as Sasha presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and then another. _“I. You.”_ Claws at the collar of Sasha's shirt. “You're, you're still dressed, it's not _fa~air._ ”

Sasha pulls away just long enough to let Brian drag his shirt off and then moves back in, intent on his task. His mouth is on Brian's chest, but his hands are elsewhere, pulling the other man in close, undoing belt and fly and reaching his erection in time to catch a desperate involuntary thrust. “You are mine,” he whispers to the hollow of Brian's throat, and kisses it. “I would like to know all of you that there is to know.”

Brian thrusts into his hand, gasping, the tip of his cock marking a damp line on Sasha's stomach. “Yes, _yes,_ that's...please. But only if it's mutual _oh._ ”

One hand stays wrapped around Brian's cock, and with the other Sasha reaches down and opens his own jeans. It takes a moment for them to shift into a workable position, which is not much different from the one they were already in, and then Brian is able to cling to Sasha's neck and thrust into the hand around _both_ of them. And Sasha's managed to remain relatively composed _until_ now, but it's no longer possible, so he simply buries his face in the side of Brian's neck and murmurs, “You are mine,” over and over again.

Until Brian shudders forward and, with a shockingly debauched moan of _“Oh,”_ comes in Sasha's hand, and the sight of his sudden breathless smile is all that Sasha needs to carry himself forward into a similar state of ecstacy.

Sasha considers his options now, and then chooses to wipe his hand clean on his own discarded shirt before standing up and taking Brian with him. His knees only wobble a _little._ “I love you.”

“I. Yes. I love you.” Brian wraps arms and legs around him, resting his cheek on Sasha's shoulder and letting himself be carried.

“We should shower. It's been a long day.”

Walking to the bathroom is a little difficult.

Brian smiles a dopey smile. “I love you. I forget if I said that already.”


	4. Hopeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopeful

The apartment is quiet at midday. It only stands to reason; their lives and jobs begin at night. Sunlight is a thing for other people.

Brian is at the store.

Normally Sasha does the shopping, but he was reading, and Brian's been feeling restless today. They wrote up a shopping list, Brian went out, and Sasha is finding solitude unexpectedly odd. His book—an elderly and well-loved copy of _Le Garage Hermétique_ —suddenly cannot hold his attention. He isn't hungry or thirsty, and he has no desire to watch television. He tries doing some exercises, but they don't help. He just feels...aimless. Aimless and restless. And horny.

Finally he gives in to what his body seems to be telling him and retreats to his bedroom, closing the door most of the way behind him. The bedclothes are military-neat and pristinely clean—he hasn't slept here much lately—and the room is pleasantly warm as he stretches out on top of the coverlet.

Of course there's no question of what to think about.

Before the night on Gotham Dam, all his fantasies were tinged with wistfulness, the sad acknowledgment that what he wanted would never come to pass. _Now_ they have a shocking life, filled with the allure of possibility.

Perhaps...

Brian finds Sasha's cock fascinating. His lovers of any kind have been few and far between; this is the first time he's been so intimate with anyone uncircumcised. Not that they've been _very_ intimate, apart from the one time, but it will certainly come.

Hm.

Brian's hands are—not soft, no, they're just as callused as his, but their calluses have a different _character._ He's studied different weapons, different unarmed disciplines, different skills entirely. His hands are deliciously _textured._

How would Brian touch him? Hesitantly, perhaps. At first. He doesn't like to get things wrong. He'd be curious, he'd test, he'd ask what felt good, what Sasha had liked before. What he had maybe dreamed of Brian doing.

Surety. A firm stroke, a smile, a kiss. Light fingers running up the underside of his cock to the head. It's so easy now to picture Brian on the bed with him, smiling at the breathed, “I love you,” and kissing Sasha with his extraordinary mouth.

_Hmm._

Perhaps next he would—

Sasha goes tense.

He's being _watched._ He always knows when he's observed, a consequence of entering covert service so young.

He opens his eyes, and Brian is leaning in the doorway, hands in pockets, watching him intently. There's a faint smile on his face.

When their eyes meet, though, he advances on the bed with clear predatory intent. “You look like you could use some company.”


	5. The Matter At...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Blow job

“You're back soon.”

“It wasn't a long shopping list. Did you expect me to get lost?” Brian gets onto the bed beside him, smiling when Sasha moves over to give him room. “I see you missed me.”

“Whenever you are not by my side I miss you.”

“Why weren't you ever this poetic before? If you had been I would've figured things out _ages_ ago. Probably. I hope.”

Sasha shrugs. “Shyness, I suppose.”

“From _you?_ ”

“I can be shy.”

“Of course, that's why you haven't actually taken your hand off your cock yet.” Brian raises an eyebrow, smirking. “You haven't even _kissed_ me since I got back.”

“Perhaps I was waiting to _be_ kissed.”

Brian props himself up on one elbow and pulls Sasha in close, kissing him with an abrupt fervor. “Well, you should be poetic more often, it makes me want to kiss you. Not that I don't want to kiss you most of the time. Or maybe it's that I know you were thinking about me just now. You were, right?”

“Of course.” Sasha wraps his arms around Brian and pulls the other man on top of him. “Only you. For years now.”

“It couldn't have been _just_ me, didn't you ever get bored?”

“Mm. I could never get bored of you. But...once or twice someone else, yes. _Almost_ always you.”

“I'm very flattered.”

They occupy themselves for a while with kisses, Brian's hand tracing down Sasha's chest to wrap around him again. Not a hard grip, and not quite the touch he'd been imagining, either. The texture of the calluses is subtly different than what he was remembering, and—he loses his train of thought with a noise that could _only_ be described as a grunt, pressing his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut.

Brian laughs.

Sasha opens one eye. “You're mocking me. Because you caught me in the act.”

“Far from it.” Brian strokes upward, slowly, and then pauses.

“...why are you stopping?”

“Because I changed my mind about what I felt like doing.”

Sasha nods, starts to sit up and reach to do up his fly, only to be pushed back down onto the bed.

“I—you don't want to stop?”

“Did I _say_ that?” Brian grins at him, kisses him quickly, and then shifts down the bed. “All I said was, I changed my mind about _what_ I felt like doing.”

Sasha feels...warm. A pleasurable warmth, as Brian looks up the length of his body to meet his eyes, and then bends down and kisses the head of his cock. His lips are warm.

His tongue flicks out, he licks the tip, and Sasha gasps, jolting.

His mouth is _hot._

Sasha groans, his hands tightening convulsively on the bedspread as Brian slides down almost to the base, lifting his gaze again so that Sasha can look at him properly. He's _smiling,_ inasmuch as he _can_ smile with his lips tight around Sasha's cock, and then he does _something_ with his tongue, it _ripples,_ and Sasha gasps and arches.

Brian moves upward a bit, there's a faint ripping noise, and his eyes flick to the side. The bedspread is tearing in Sasha's grip. Brian suppresses a laugh, which is in itself an interesting sensation, and then reaches over, gently disentangles Sasha's hand from the covers, and places it on the back of his own head. He does the same with Sasha's other hand.

Sasha frowns. “I don't want to...”

Brian rolls his eyes and lifts up and off for a moment to say, “What I'm saying is, I would _appreciate_ having my hair pulled, would you _please_ so I can get back to what I was _doing._ ”

“I—” There are words he could say here, Sasha knows that he's capable of speech, but somehow nothing will come out except, “Ok.”

“ _Thank_ you.” A sudden, bright grin, which fades into a pleased shiver as Sasha weaves his fingers into Brian's hair and grips hard. “Mm. Now.” He bends down and runs the tip of his tongue up the underside of Sasha's cock. “ _Now_ I can get back to the matter at hand.”


	6. Ruination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Clothed getting off

The apartment door slams behind them. They barely have time to lock it. Sasha's face is buried in the side of Brian's neck, Brian's hands tangled in his hair. “Never again. Never, never.”

“But...” Brian's laughter is breathless. “Will you still be so passionate if I _never_ do anything stupid and reckless? What if you get bored?”

“I will be _more_ so. Worrying takes energy. Worrying about _you_ takes more energy than most.”

“Fair point.” Brian slides his hands down Sasha's back, and then up under the hem of his shirt. “I suppose there _are_ better uses of your energy. At least, _I_ can think of a few.”

“Hm? _Can_ you?” With a bit of rapid shifting, Sasha gets Brian pressed back against the closed door, a knee pushed between his legs.

“I... _nnn_...well, I _could._ In theory. You should take my shirt off.”

“Why? I like this shirt, it looks good on you.” And it does, at that, a fine, clinging dark blue silk that Brian had put on for comfort that morning—despite all their talk of recklessness, it was of times past, as he'd spent the day tinkering with the computers at Kord Tower.

Brian tries to speak and stumbles over his words, and so instead in retaliation he drags Sasha's head down and bites his earlobe. “Because,” he manages after a moment, his hips still working against Sasha's thigh, “if you don't undress me soon I'm going to _ruin_ these pants.”


	7. Ecdysiast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Dressed/naked (half dressed)

 Sasha goes to unbutton Brian's shirt, but somehow he just doesn't have the fine motor control. He fumbles, can't grip the buttons, can't manage a buttonhole, until finally Brian grabs his hands and says, “Stop.”

“Sorry, sorry—”

“No, I've thought of an alternative, go sit down.” Sasha doesn't move right away, so Brian pushes him lightly. “Go sit on the couch.”

“I...all right?” Sasha takes a moment to tug off his shoes and then sits down, his brow wrinkling. “Are we doing something?” Being in a...not a relationship, they've been in a relationship of one kind of another for years now—perhaps it's a romance? It feels like a romance. Whatever it is, it's exhilirating for the same reason that it's exhausting, which is that Brian can never be counted on to do what Sasha is expecting him to do. “What are we doing?”

“ _You're_ sitting still and not touching. _I'm_ going to be doing something. It would be better if there was music, but I don't think we have anything with the right kind of beat.” He's taking his shoes off and setting them by the door, and he isn't turning more lights on, so in the dim room he looks very... _mysterious._ “But then, if I couldn't make do with the music in my head, then I wouldn't be much of a dancer. I hope I'm not _too_ rusty.”

Dancer...?

Brian toes off his socks, flexes his muscles (his back ripples, Sasha wants to press his face against it), turns around, and says, “So. You sit still, and don't touch. Did I already say that?”

And he taps a steady rhythm with his foot, and then reaches up and undoes the top button of his shirt.

_Oh._

Sasha flushes hot.

_Dancing._

Button by button the shirt opens, Brian moving sinuously the whole time. He's doing things with his hips that Sasha isn't sure he's ever seen before, and then he turns his back and Sasha almost protests, only to be struck dumb by the sight of blue silk sliding away from muscled shoulders. Brian glances back as he peels the shirt off, eyelashes shading his eyes, and the only appropriate word to use is “sultry.” He looks _sultry._

He turns around again with a breath-taking switch of the hips and sways rhythmically over to Sasha, and somehow Sasha cannot imagine ever thinking that _any_ clothes could be sexier than dark pants and a plain white cotton undershirt. Mindful of the injuction that he _sit still and not touch,_ he reaches out and grips the couch cushions tightly, biting his lip as Brian kneels forward, straddling his lap, grinding against him.

Watching Brian undo his belt and slide it off, loop by loop, seems to take an agonizingly long time, but it's well worth the wait as he feels the leather slide across _his_ shoulders and Brian pulls him in for a light but lingering kiss. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“Oh, yes,” Sasha says, feelingly. “Oh, yes, very much.”

Brian smiles. “Then I suppose I'm not so rusty after all.”

He thumbs open the button on his waistband, slides down the zipper, and shifts his pants down so that they ride enticingly low on his hips. Pulls out the tie holding his hair back and lets his hair fall down around his face like a golden curtain. Grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it slowly up, and _not touching_ is getting _very_ difficult at this point. The slow reveal of his stomach and chest is heartstopping, and by the time he's starting to properly pull it off over his head Sasha is certain that he's going to faint from want.

And there is a long pause, which he thinks is perhaps intended to heighten the anticipation, and then Brian says, “Ah. Sasha?”

Sasha blinks and says, breathlessly, “Yes, Brian?”

“I am...rustier than I thought.”

“I...how do you mean? I am...I'm enjoying it.”

“That's good, but I'm stuck. I've gotten my elbows tangled in the shirt.”

Sasha stares at him for a moment—or at least, at the wall of white cotton where his face should be—and fights to suppress laughter.

“You're _laughing_ at me.”

“Well, you said not to touch you. You were very clear.”

“ _Help_ me, dammit.” Sasha runs his fingers up Brian's sides, and Brian twitches. “That is _not_ helping.”

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Sasha helps him tug his undershirt off the rest of the way and then presses his lips to the hollow of Brian's throat. “You are an _excellent_ dancer.”

Brian rakes his nails up Sasha's back. “I'm making _you_ dance next time.”


	8. Performers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Skype sex

Las Vegas is nice enough, Brian supposes, but it's a bit loud. Good food, interesting people, plenty of entertainment, but constant _noise._ He _could_ spend his entire trip inside, happily chipping through casino firewalls, but Dinah's watching him like a hawk. And anyway, it's not what they're here for.

The cover story's that they're rich siblings, twins in fact—their false IDs were issued to Viola and Sebastian Orsino. Ostensibly they're here for the gala re-opening of a casino that just changed owners; in actuality they're investigating a human trafficking ring that Black Mask is running through it. The tip came to Oracle, and she didn't seem happy about whoever had contacted her, but it's a serious matter.

So here they are. The high-roller suite they've been installed in is lush beyond words, and after a long day of little progress they're both too exhausted to appreciate it. Dinah is sprawled on the couch with a bowl of room service nachos balanced on her stomach, watching _House of Flying Daggers._ Brian's been in the shower for fifteen minutes, trying to scrub away the awfulness of the day's investigative results.

Finally he shrugs on one of the complimentary bathrobes and wanders out into the front room, toweling off his hair. Dinah looks up when she hears him, makes a squawking noise, and nearly loses her nachos in her struggle not to fall off the couch. “Holy _shit,_ B-Bastian, belt _up!_ ”

He looks down at himself. “Oh. Yes.” Pulls his robe closed and ties the belt in a firm knot. “Sorry, normally the only one likely to see me is Creote, and he doesn't mind.”

“I _bet_ not, he's a _lucky_ man.” Then, realizing what she's said, Dinah turns bright red and stuffs a handful of nachos into her mouth. “Fo. Uh. Oo ot a Kype da?”

“I...do I _what?_ ”

She swallowed her mouthful. “I was _saying,_ you've got the Skype call tonight, right? Reporting in?”

“Oh. Oh, yes.”

“You should take your pills.”

“I will, thank you.” He gets himself a glass of water from the kitchenette and downs the evening's pills in one swallow. “When was I supposed to make that call again?”

Dinah glances at the clock. “Ten minutes. You'd better go boot up your computer.”

“Right, right.”

He dresses while the computer (with personally customized security systems) is starting up—wouldn't be right to call Oracle in a bathrobe, after all. Skype loads just as he's grabbing a shirt, and he pulls it on and doesn't even get a chance to button it when he sees that he's already being called. Which is worrying. _He's_ supposed to call _her._

He answers the call and—it's not Oracle. It's _Sasha,_ who says, genially, “Hello, Sebastian my love.” He's put on a soft Provençal accent. His fingers flicker at the bottom of the cam window, in barely perceptible sign language: _Observers. Mission compromised. Huntress enroute. Stay in character._ “How goes your trip so far? I am lonely without you.”

Brian rolls his eyes and says, in a lazy drawl, “I _guess_ it's fun. _Garish_ _,_ but fun enough. The _food_ is at least decent. Some things are even genuinely _delicious,_ Alex, you'd have a _ball._ ” _How long do we keep this up?_

“And the casino? Didn't Viola say she was thinking of investing?” _Twenty minutes at least._ _To distract them._

“Oh, she's _thrilled,_ of course. Not that she's _saying_ so, but I can tell.” He smirks, slouching in his chair. It may have been years since he's _been_ a spoiled child wasting his father's money—at _least_ two, he's fairly certain—but he still knows how to play the part. “So how are things back at the old homestead?” _How do we pass the time?_

“Business as usual, my love. I've been sharing old war stories with your aunt.” _I have a plan._

“She _does_ enjoy your company, I suppose.” _I trust you._ “But I do miss you.”

“Have you, then?”

“Very much.” Brian summons up his best pretentious-college-student smile. “All the world is bleak without you.”

Sasha leans forward on his elbows at his computer, gazing warmly at Brian through the Skype feed, and then says, “Take off your shirt.”

Aha. _That's_ his plan.

Brian can't say he objects.

“Mm. Getting right to the point, aren't you?” Brian undoes his shirt buttons with one hand and shrugs it off onto the back of his chair. “Are you going to take yours off too, Alex, or is this just a one-way show? It _can_ be, but I'll expect a favor.”

“Then I'll owe you. I miss you terribly, my love, I _ache_ for you, but it's _cold_ in here.” Which is probably _entirely_ true.

Brian laughs. “You big _baby._ All right, then.” He stretches showily, running his hands through his hair. “So. What _is_ it that you desire?” He leans in toward the camera and lets his voice drop conspiratorially low. “What have you been thinking about? Tell me.”

“I've been thinking about...” Sasha's voice sounds, suddenly, slightly hoarse. “I have been thinking about everything we will do when you return.”

Out in the front room, Brian can hear Dinah's phone ringing, and he's pleased that he locked the bedroom door. He stands up, backing away a bit so that his pelvis is perfectly framed in the camera screen, and starts to undo his belt. Slowly. “Like what?”

“I think, Sebastian...when you come home, I'm going to fuck you. I doubt we'll even get a chance to get to the bedroom.”

Well, that...that's a _very_ attractive prospect, and Brian _knows_ that Sasha can see how attractive he finds it. “Tell me what you're going to do.”

“When you return home I will meet you at the door.” One of Sasha's hands has disappeared beneath the desk. “I will strip you bare there, on the mat, and I will hold you to the wall so that you cannot move away from me, and I will fuck between your legs.”

The breath catches in Brian's throat, and instead of replying he simply takes a moment to drag the desk closer to the bed. Now he can recline, in full view of the camera, and peel his pants down, arching out of them in a way calculated to display.

“I won't let you touch yourself yet.”

Brian manages to raise an eyebrow and not come on himself right then and there. “Won't _let?_ ”

“That's what I said. And you won't, if I tell you not to.” Sasha looks pleased with his reaction. And he hasn't let the accent slip even _once,_ which is impressive.

“I suppose I won't.” Whoever's monitoring them must be getting an eyeful. Which is, Brian supposes, part of the point, since a covert agent planning to disrupt a large-scale illegal operation would _surely_ not stop mid-mission to make an obscene Skype call to his boyfriend.

But that's beside the point. The show...well, hm, the show _must_ go on, mustn't it?

He spreads his legs wide, wraps a hand around his cock, and fixes Sasha with a smouldering gaze through the camera feed. “And then?”

“Then...” Sasha has to pause, because he's breathing rather heavily, his cheeks tinged pink. “Then I will bend you over the back of the couch, and I will fuck you. I will start very slow, so that you feel every centimeter of me.”

“And then do I get to touch myself?”

 _“_ _No,”_ rough-voiced. “ _I_ will touch you.”

Brian sighs. And—he doesn't have any lube, he wasn't expecting to _need_ any on this trip, but he does have lotion, and he reaches for the bottle with his free hand, squeezes a bit into his palm, and presses a finger into himself. “Tell me how.”

Sasha bites his lip so hard that Brian is briefly concerned he's going to start bleeding.

 

–

 

Ten minutes later, Helena bangs into the front room of the suite, panting, and says, “Oh my god, D-Viola, I thought I'd _never_ find your room, this place is _huge!_ ”

Dinah jumps up with a shout of, “Helen!” and hugs her tightly.

As they're hugging, Helena whispers into her ear, “I have _no_ idea what the boys are doing, but whatever it is, it's got Black Mask's spies off our trail. Where _is_ Savant?”

Dinah jerks her head towards the closed door of Brian's bedroom. “Should I go roust him? I figured they deserved some time to catch up anyway.”

They move towards the door, but stop dead at the sound of a loud moan of something that's definitely _not_ pain.

Helena turns bright red. “ _Oh._ _That's_ how they did it.”


	9. I Meant What I Said...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Against the wall

He gets into the apartment, locks the door, shucks his shoes, puts down his bag, and has enough time to say, “So Vegas went well,” before his back is pressed against the wall and Sasha's mouth is stopping his.

He drops his jacket next to their feet and grins against Sasha's lips. “So you _did_ miss me.”

“Always. I _told_ you I missed you.”

“Yes, but I always worry that you're just saying it to make me feel better.”

“I meant what I said.” Sasha kisses him again, his hands slide up from Brian's waist to his stomach and chest to the collar of his t-shirt and—he grips it tightly and _rips,_ tearing the fabric from neck to hem. “In fact, recently I've said a _lot_ of things to you that I meant _very_ seriously.”

The ripped shirt gets tangled when Sasha's peeling it off, so for a moment Brian's wrists are trapped behind his back. Sasha takes advantage of the opportunity to drop to his knees and press his face against Brian's stomach while opening his belt, tugging down his jeans, so that by the time Brian's gotten himself untangled he's _also_ stepping out of his pants. And then Sasha grabs his waist and leans in to suck his cock and his back arches so suddenly that his head hits the wall. _“Ah.”_

Sasha is stroking himself as he sucks, and Brian's fingers scrabble on the wall. “I don't remember this being _quite_ what you said you wanted to do.”

Sasha comes up for air long enough to say, “I may have left out a few details.”

Brian flattens his hands against the plaster, because Sasha _doesn't_ especially like having his hair pulled, and tries to keep his knees steady. It's difficult, because Sasha's doing something _amazing_ with his tongue. He'll have to find out what later so he can reciprocate.

Then, just as he's shaking and panting and about to fall apart, Sasha stands up and rumbles, “Turn around.”

He turns, and is pressed against the wall by Sasha's weight, his chest against Brian's back, his hands on Brian's hips.

Another rumble, shakier. “Let me...”

He nods, and Sasha's cock slides between his thighs, thrusting against the mostly-smooth skin with its hairline scars. No lube, but their skin is sweat-slick already—Sasha has the heat turned up, big Russian baby that he is. It feels good and strange and frustrating, gripping him like this, Sasha not _in_ him but still _with_ him.

He reaches down to touch himself.

And Sasha grabs his wrist and growls _“No.”_

The heat and possessiveness and _affection_ of it make Brian shiver. He tosses his head back, leaning up to meet Sasha coming down for a kiss, and murmurs, “You really _did_ mean what you said.”


	10. ...And I Said What I Meant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Doggy style

Stumbling over to the couch turns into an awkward, ridiculous waltz, as they try to peel Sasha out of _his_ clothes without ever losing contact. They trip over his jeans, they almost rip his shirt—“It'd serve you right, tearing up a comfortable t-shirt like that”—and briefly dissolve into laughter at how difficult it is to get rid of their socks. Then, though, they _reach_ the couch, and Brian's stomach hits its cushioned back not quite hard enough to wind him. Sasha kisses the back of his neck and then wraps a hand in his hair and tugs, and he shudders violently.

“Let me in.”

He moves his feet apart, lets Sasha step in close, Sasha's cock pressed against his ass. Sasha pulls his head back, hand still in his hair, and kisses him. Bites his lower lip. “I don't like being apart from you.”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Worried, yes. Perhaps a bit jealous.” Sasha kisses his neck again, then the top of his spine, then both of his shoulderblades. “Letting you go off to a luxury hotel with a beautiful woman and leave me behind.”

Brian laughs. “Like anyone could compete with you. Besides, you might just as easily have— _oh._ ”

It occurs to him now that Sasha's only had one hand accounted for this whole time. Now he knows why, because there's a slick finger pushing into him and—wait, have they not _done_ this yet?

Sasha's breath sounds harsh, ragged, and he's moving with such care that his carefulness is itself erotic. Brian's hands tighten on the couch cushions. The back of the couch is probably the only thing holding him up, especially as Sasha twists his fingers and Brian's knees decide to give out.

Sasha pulls him close and asks, softly, “Good?”

His hair is in his eyes. “I'm going to die.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

Brian cranes his neck back to meet Sasha's gaze. “Are you going to fuck me now or do I have to say please? Because I _will,_ if it'll help.”

Sasha—blinks. And shivers. And _blushes._

“Is that something to _discuss_ later?”

“Yes. Yes, it—may I?”

“You have have _already,_ you _know_ I want you to.”

“Never without your permission.”

“Then yes. You may. _Please._ ”

A moment of adjustment, and then Sasha thrusts into him and Brian gasps. He could be poetic about it, maybe, but the truth is just that it feels _very_ good to have Sasha _in_ him. Sasha has one hand in his hair, the other is stroking his cock—the situation is in _every_ way ideal, even with the back of the couch pressing into his stomach. Actually, perhaps especially with that. Brian's feeling very pleasantly overpowered.

 _Teeth._ Sasha is biting the nape of his neck as he thrusts, and Brian moans, thrashing delightedly against the weight holding him down. _Everything_ is perfect.

And—Sasha is slowing, his hips pumping with less force, and Brian is about to ask if something's wrong when the hand on his cock tightens. Faster strokes, swift and sweet, and as Sasha pulls his head back and kisses him again he groans and comes, powerfully aware of Sasha's cock in his ass. Sasha's answering moan shakes him, hips moving again in one, _two—_

—and _done._

They stand together, breathing hard, Sasha's face pressed into Brian's hair. “I miss you when you're gone.”

“Yes.” Brian takes an unsteady breath. “I don't like being away from you either.”

“Mm.”

“Also I think we may have stained the couch.”

“It can be cleaned later.”


	11. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Dom/sub

It used to be a joke between them—a faintly insensitive one, but only because Brian didn't _know_ and Sasha could not, would not tell him. A joke, a game, grown out of Brian's surprised at having found so loyal a friend and assistant.

“You'll really do _anything_ I tell you to do.”

Normally said out of combat, normally said when Sasha was (as requested) making sure he ate or slept or returned his books to the library. Sasha had spent years making dinners and obtaining unusual hardware and assisting with projects and had never once replied with, _Yes. Anything. Anything you ask of me, anything you desire, I am yours to command._

And one evening, Sasha now remembered, Brian had brought home another handsome young man for an evening's companionship. Through the wall, in the next bedroom, Sasha had heard him speaking to his companion first softly, then in terms of harsh command.

That night, for Sasha, had been an _agony_ of suppressed want.

Now truths have been told, and he has Brian's heart in trade for his, but there are some things they still haven't talked about.

 

–

 

Sebastian Orsino is back in Gotham and ready to engage in some of the shady business that Oracle has ensured his family is quietly known for. His twin sister is out of town, so he's brought along his bodyguard, an enormous Frenchman known only as Alexander.

Sasha stands next to Brian's elbow and looks as stoic as possible. He knows what the criminals they're dealing with will expect: a spoiled dabbler, with a bodyguard hired primarily for his intimidating appearance and with no thought for actual fighting ability. It's not difficult to remain unsmiling and project an air of unfocused menace.

Brian is haggling furiously, running through the points Oracle supplied him with admirable precision. In the middle of a particularly heated part of the argument, as planned, he snaps, “Alex!”

“Yes, sir?”

“The sample.”

“Yes, sir.”

Their contact eyes him suspiciously as he passes over Oracle's packet. “Are you sure he's trustworthy?”

Brian rolls his eyes. “What, _Alex?_ Of _course._ He'll do _anything_ I tell him to.”

Sasha has to suppress an abrupt shiver.

“Right, Alex? I can trust you to keep my secrets, _can't_ I?” Brian _winks_ at him, very visibly.

“Of course, sir.”

He sees Brian's eyes darken for a fraction of a second, but then he's back in character. “So. Sample provided.”

Their contact passes the packet to a colleague, who sniffs it, tastes it, and pronounces it genuine. Then, of course, comes the haggling and argumentation, with Brian skillfully driving them to the points Oracle wants them to conede.

The discussion is successful. They leave, knowing that they'll be observed. They get a taxi.

In the back of the taxi, Brian grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him close. Whispers in his ear, “ _Anything_ I tell you?”

There's warmth in the pit of Sasha's stomach. “Anything.” A beat. “Sir.”

“So if I told you to get on your knees in the footwell and suck my cock, you'd do that?”

“Yes. Although—” he casts a dubious glance at the footwell, “I doubt I would fit.”

“Kiss me.”

“Pardon?”

“I _said—_ ”

Sasha kisses him. It gets fairly passionate. The cabbie glances at them in the rear view mirror, coughs, and keeps his eyes on the road.

“I think,” Brian purrs into Sasha's mouth, “it would be in-character for Sebastian Orsino to be fucking his bodyguard.”

“It would be entirely appropriate for a young man of his character. Sir.”

Brian's eyes are gleaming. He's having _fun._ “I think I'll let whoever's watching us find that out.”

Sasha grins. “And then what? Sir/”

“Well, I don't know what _they'll_ be doing with that information, but _I'll_ be too busy fucking my bodyguard to bother finding out. Kiss me again.”

A moment later the cabbie coughs loudly. “Your stop.”

“Pay him.”

“Yes, sir.” Sasha passes the cabbie a hundred-dollar bill. “You didn't see us.”

“Whatever you say, mac.”

Sasha helps Brian out of the taxi, checks surreptitiously for observers, and then unlocks the building door. He's about to go in when Brian stops him. “Kiss me again.”

He blinks. “Here?”

Brian's eyes _flash._ “Did I _say_ we should go somewhere else first?”

Sasha shudders, murmurs, “No, sir,” and kisses him. Mid-kiss, Brian shoves him back against the doorframe, fingers curled tight in the front of his jacket, and Sasha's knees go weak. Faintly, from across the street, he can hear someone cough and drop a pair of binoculars, and the very small part of his mind that's not _entirely_ Brian-focused sneers, _Amateur._

“Upstairs. _Now._ ”

They get upstairs, lock the apartment door behind them, and Brian says, sharply, “Get on your knees.”

Sasha drops. “Yes, sir.”

Then—nothing, and he looks up to see Brian staring at him in fascinated wonder. He says, sounding baffled, “I'm lucky you're mine.”

Sasha grins. “Likewise. Sir.”


	12. Waking the Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 _and_ 13: Fingering and Rimming

 Sasha bites the inside of his wrist. He's on the bed, on his hands and knees, and he feels in every way exposed—which is probably because Brain is kneeling between his legs, fucking him excruciatingly slowly with one finger. He turns back to look at Brian—

“Don't do that.”

Sasha blinks. “Don't _look_ at you? Why _not?_ ”

Brian's eyes flick away. He's red-faced. “Because I am _focussing_ on trying to making you scream loud enough to seriously irritated our neighbors, and if you look at me I'll see your ridiculous doe eyes and lose my concentration.”

“I have _not_ got— _aah,_ ” as Brian crooks his finger, leans down to kiss the base of Sasha's spine as he slips another finger in.

“You're so quiet.” Brian's lips move against his skin.

“It's in my— _ohhh—_ in my nature.”

“But I _want_ to make you get loud.” He licks a stripe up Sasha's back, twisting his fingers as he does so, and Sasha jolts, legs shaking. “And it's not as if you'll get in trouble for it.”

“But you can't look at my face.”

“No, because then I'll want to kiss you and we'll get sidetracked.”

“Which is very—very—” Sasha cuts off, biting his wrist again and growning in the back of his throat.

Brian's fingers slip out of him, and he almost starts to argue until he feels the hand wrapping slick around his cock. Another kiss at the base of his spine, and then he can feel Brian shifting back and—

_“Oh.”_

One slow, caeful lick, and then another, the tip of Brian's tongue circling his hole and briefly darting in. Sasha lets out a grunt of startled pleasure and can feel Brian's lips curve up.

Brian's hand twists in the way he knows Sasha likes as he continues to lick, and Sasha cannot suppress another, louder groan, “Brian...”

“Say it again. Please.” And a wet, curling press in—

_“Brian!”_

“Sasha,” a whisper across his skin.

He shudders and says it again. “Brian!”

There's a knocking sound from below, which sounds suspiciously like someone banging on the ceiling with a broom.

“Brian,” and a huffing laugh that turns into a moan midway, “what did the neighbors ever do to you?”


End file.
